


Friction

by deicide



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Jealousy, Revenge Sex, Voyeurism, please delete this after i die so god will still let me into heaven, this is probably the raunchiest thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deicide/pseuds/deicide
Summary: You thought nothing about this situation was aided by the fact he intentionally rented out the room right next to yours, but it's only now that it hits you: he thinks you're staying there alone. A light bulb turns on in your head. It’s simultaneously the best and worst idea you’ve ever had, but it just might work.You’d love to see him dare even look in your direction after tonight.Being “just friends” with Murdoc can be trying, especially when he constantly wants to break your boyfriend’s neck. This is your last-ditch effort to put an end to his advances once and for all.





	Friction

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to kind of kill my writers block. safe to say i did that

The hotel room is cold when you walk in, much colder than the brightly lit corridor leading up to it. As you shut the door, shadows blanket the walls, nearly leaving you blinded from what could possibly be in front of or behind you. Fortunately, you feel safe in the company of your boyfriend, who flicks the switch as he rolls in your shared luggage. Under the dim lighting of the bedside lamp, you watch his tired figure throw the suitcase on the mattress. He unzips it before shrugging off his jacket and digging through your toiletries to find his toothbrush.

"You going to bed?" you ask as he walks into the small bathroom. Your reflection stares back from the mirror in front of him.

"Yeah," he sighs, turning the faucet on. "Tired."

"Alright. I won't be gone long." You tuck away a loose strand of hair dangling in your face. "Call me if you need anything?"

Your boyfriend makes eye contact with you through the mirror and nods, the sleepy puppy-dog look on his face all too familiar and even sweeter with his toothbrush stuffed in his cheek. You smile and turn to walk out of the room, now hit with the full force of the hallway’s fluorescent lighting.

It's a straight-shot to the elevator, seeing as your room is situated at the bare end of the hall. As you step in alone, you look either way down the corridor.

You're sure Murdoc is downstairs at the bar already. But it's worth checking. You had some particularly harsh words for him tonight.

The elevator dings and the door whirrs open, releasing you into the lobby. Over the echoing silence you hear a loud cackle from down the hall, muffled by drywall and air conditioning. You follow the sound until faint music becomes apparent and you confirm to yourself you're headed in the right direction. As you swing around the corner and through the entrance, your friends turn and holler.

At this time in the night, there were about as many people still up as you expected. They seemed to essentially have the place to themselves, save for an older man and a meth head occupying the corner.

"Long time, no see," Russell smiles as you hop onto the stool between he and Murdoc. You can almost physically feel a growl come from the latter in response to you not facing him. He polishes off his tequila and orders another.

"Sorry we started without you," Russ puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the bar. "Weren't sure whether you were coming."

You open your mouth to answer when the clacking of pool balls interrupts you. Noodle squeals in delight. As you look over, she's already resetting the table, 2D slumped in defeat behind her. He says something you can't quite hear over the music and she nods as he strolls into the hallway, presumably to take a piss.

"Eh," you start, "I had no reason not to. Well—not _enough_ reasons."

As the words roll out of your mouth, you glare at Murdoc in your peripheral, not bothering with eye contact. You catch the smirk forming on his lips and your jaw tenses.

You turn your attention back to Russell half a second too late. He's already silently communicating with Noodle, who gestures for him to play a match with her from across the room. Before you can stop him, he pats you on the shoulder and slides off his stool, leaving you with the one person you would kill not to be alone with right now.

"Got enough reasons now?" Murdoc sneers, swirling his glass around in his hand. You cross your arms and pretend he doesn't exist. "Oh, come on, love—"

" _Stop_...calling me that." The words grate past your teeth as you spit them out, still refusing to look at him.

Normally your friendship with Murdoc is smooth sailing. You try to keep an open mind with him, accept his binge drinking and strange behavior, offer him help if he ever needs it. He seems to appreciate it whether he’ll admit it aloud or not, but over the last couple of months one thing’s been beginning to severely strain your relationship and that is his ever-growing infatuation with you.

His promiscuity is no doubt something you're aware of, but after the first time you turned him down you assumed he'd leave you alone and find somebody else. You couldn't have been more wrong—over the course of the last few weeks the words _"Murdoc, I have a boyfriend"_ have left your mouth more times than you can count, and tonight was no different. If anything, tonight had been a record-breaking worst.

The furthest it had gone before was taking you by the hand as he spoke or touching your back just a bit too low, but tonight you had found yourself in his dressing room—innocently, of course: he had requested you bring him something to drink—and he took it upon himself to pin you to the wall, his knee between your thighs and alcohol on his breath, begging you to let him touch you, just this once. Repeating the same mantra over and over that your boyfriend wouldn't find out, that he's weak and could never do to you the things _he_ could do. That he can't bear living in a world where he doesn't get to have you every night.

And by this point you were livid, having put up with his antics for weeks on end, knowing he was fully aware you loved your boyfriend and yet that somehow wasn't enough to get him to back off. Oh, and that other thing, the thing you couldn't admit to yourself—his relentless pursuit of you just so happened to turn you on immensely.

So you pushed him off. You told him you'd had enough and there'd be hell to pay if he ever put his hands on you like that again. And you avoided him like the plague for the rest of the night.

That was, until now. Your eyes are still boring holes into his skull.

"You're still angry," he observes, glancing at the ground after not-so-discreetly looking you up and down. You take a breath but don't give him the satisfaction of concealing your body.

"That was five hours ago."

"Six," he corrects.

"S—I don't give a _fuck_!" you hiss, the craning of your neck subconsciously threatening his life.

"You know everything I said was true," he asserts darkly, eye contact unwavering. "Give me tonight and I’ll prove it."

You hesitate. You thought nothing about this situation was aided by the fact he intentionally rented out the room right next to yours, but it's only now that it hits you: he thinks you're staying there alone. A light bulb turns on in your head. It's simultaneously the best and worst idea you've ever had, but it just might work.

You'd love to see him dare even look in your direction after tonight.

"I’ll bet on my own life you can't," you mutter lowly and lock your eyes on the door. You turn your head to him slyly. "My room, ten minutes."

And with that, you glide off the stool and saunter out of the bar, not giving it a second thought. As you hit the elevator button to your floor, you picture him in your mind, biting his tongue hard and impatiently bouncing his leg until it's his turn to get up and leave.

You storm down the corridor, your room in perfect frame between either wall. You're so fired up that you slam your hand down on the knob and forget it's locked, sending a shudder through the doorframe. By the time you finally get out your key card and whip the door open, your boyfriend has crawled out of bed and stands inches away, ready to let you in. You stare at him from the doorway, his hair rustled and his tired eyes glassy with confusion, in nothing but his underwear and a pair of mismatched socks.

"—Babe?” 

You pounce on him instantaneously and he makes a noise of surprise as your tongue impatiently invades his mouth. Walking him urgently back to the bed, you throw him down and slide out of your jacket. The mattress bounces as you jump on top of him, your kisses nearly choking him. He winces as your teeth clamp down on his lip viciously.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks genuinely, wide eyes already begging for your forgiveness.

"No, baby," you reassure him, breathless. The tenderness of your voice contradicts the steel grip you take on his wrists. "I love you."

The pain of your nails scraping at his skin bewilders him. He's never seen you so feral in all your time together.

"What're you—?"

"Shh, shh," you whisper, peeling your dress over your head as you use your legs to trap his hips beneath you. "Just touch me."

He complies obediently, his hands almost immediately sliding beneath your bra. The warmth of his hands in contrast with your cool skin makes you hum in satisfaction and you squirm against him, laying your lips on his again. Your hands press down on the mattress above his shoulders, letting his fingers wander down your body gently until they reach your underwear and hook into the band. You look to the cheap alarm clock on the night stand.

Time's up.

Murdoc practically tears his way down the hall, a devious smirk growing on his face just thinking about the things he’s going to do to you. As he slows in front of your door, your boyfriend thinks nothing of the sound of clacking boots; you know better. You let soft moan fall from your lips as he sinks one finger into you, letting you push back deeper. The whimpers that follow are loud enough for Murdoc to hear from outside, you are sure of that. And it helps that he's got his ear to the door, his eyes drifting shut as he inhales and envisions you laying spread eagle on the bed with your hands dancing between your legs. Surely thinking about him—preparing yourself for whatever he's got in mind. Just as he opens his mouth to call out your name, his own voice is overshadowed by another.

_"Fuck, you're wet."_

Murdoc freezes, his eyes snapping open at the sound. He recognizes that voice: the one he's never acknowledged in conversation, the one that always brings with it the gentle sound of your laughter, the one that immerses him in bitterness and jealousy every time he hears it—a feeling now amplified beyond measure. His fingers clench into a fist and he breathes fire, drunkenly digging into his pocket for the key card to his room. He slips it in and out a few times clumsily before noting that it's upside down. You hear him growl in frustration from outside the door, causing a snide grin to form on your lips between sighs of pleasure. Even better is the thunderous slam of his door that rattled each and every one of the walls. All you want in this moment is to call after him, to taunt him a little further— _you think you can do better than this? How much do i turn you on now?_ —but you keep it to yourself, gasping loudly as your boyfriend draws his fingers out one last time.

Murdoc sits opposite to you in his own room, separated only by a mere inch of drywall. He stares ahead into the darkness, barely sane enough to breathe. His hands are clenched so hard he fears he might break a bone. Ideas race through his head—should he bust your door down, killing your little boy toy and taking you for himself? Should he kill you too? Both viable options.

He reminds himself to cool it, think this thing through. He could easily walk downstairs, pick up some loose broad from the bar and give you a taste of your own medicine, but what good would that do him? The same boring temporary pleasure of banging it out with a stranger, one you surely wouldn’t give a damn about?

No. This next idea is much better.

His cock stiffens as he hears your bedsprings rustle and you let out a flirtatious giggle. Murdoc shuts his eyes and leans his head back into the wall, exhaling as he fumbles quietly with his belt buckle. He hears you whine in preparation and nearly calls out for you to wait, only stopping himself when works his jeans down in time.

Everything forms a perfect picture in his mind: your eyes watery as they look up at him in anticipation, his hands pinning your knees apart on the mattress while he hovers over you. He hears you gasp; he’s not ready yet. His hand wraps around his dick regardless, envisioning the way your mouth would fall open when he finally got you in his bed. You moan louder. Then again. And again. The speed of his hand catches up, meeting your pace immaculately and his hips roll up. He’d love nothing more than to shut you up with his tongue down your throat right now.

Murdoc is beyond reality at this point, completely lost in ecstasy as he works himself a little faster, a little harder. He lets out a breathless growl, blinking anxiously while his hand halts any motion. The way you mewl as the bedsprings creak grants him ability to resume; surely you’d stop if you knew the perverted satisfaction you were giving him right now.

The muffled sound of your boyfriend’s voice makes his jaw clench. This is about you, _only_ you. You’re not fucking your boyfriend, he convinces himself. Murdoc Niccals is the only one inside you. The only one with the right to be. You inadvertently cut off his train of thought. 

“Please, baby,” you purr seductively, your voice now seemingly closer than it was before. So close he can taste you.

_That’s right, my love. Beg for it._

He bites back a groan as you scratch the wall and a strangled noise falls from your lips. His grip on his cock grows tighter, your coos of pleasure becoming all the more noisy and much more frequent. You’re on the edge and he knows full well, picturing you gripping hard on your pillows, ass out and dripping just for him. A sheen of sweat now covers his chest at the mental image of his hips slamming into yours from behind.

You’re nearly in tears, a few whimpers of “ _oh, god, oh my god_ ” scattered between trembling moans. Murdoc’s hand slicks down on his cock at a mirrored pace, the relentlessness of your ecstasy making his breath catch. A final high-pitched cry echoes from behind the wall, followed by two quivering gasps and a long, relieved sigh. He can still hear the muffled tapping of the bed frame against the wall, filling the period of silence before your boyfriend chokes up and chases his own high, causing Murdoc to pause. He smirks to himself.

Done already? He could do so much better. He’s not even close to being finished.

He reaches for his phone, which is propped neatly on the pillow next to his head. The little red button on the screen disappears as he presses  _end recording_ and slips on his headphones.

He should thank you. Now he won’t have to keep imagining the horribly lewd noises you’re capable of making in the dark, no more fantasizing in static silence. He hits  _playback_ , his hand yet again falling below the belt to put you back where you belong: in his mind.

And to think you actually believed it was in your power to repel him. He has exactly what he wants now. You, wherever and whenever he pleases. All to himself.


End file.
